


Scarred

by TheNarator



Series: Honor Among Thieves [4]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Angst for days, M/M, Mild Gore, So much angst, evil!cisco, gory depictions of healing wounds, not too bad but some people might find it unsettling, reverse cloud city vader speeches, sort of, villains gettin real philosophical about their scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:25:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6178381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNarator/pseuds/TheNarator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Rogues are forced to flee their hideout when the manor is invaded by the Flash. In the wake of the attack, Cisco examines the marks left on him by his old life. Mick can understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scarred

**Author's Note:**

> i just realized i portray len as being a pretty jealous person in this series don't i? maybe it's just because cisco is so awesome in this.
> 
> there's only one more part to this series, and i can't say when it's coming up but when it does it will be very action-y and dramatic. lots of stuff happening, not just evil people being all introspective and shit. evil people being evil.

Rogues Manor, as they had affectionately dubbed their nicest and most recent hideout, had three entrances on the ground floor: the front door, the back door, and the kitchen door. The front door was the main entry point and the back door led from the dining room out onto to patio; both were meant for use by the rich family who was supposed to be living there. The kitchen door, however, was meant for use by the domestic staff, so it was placed to make comings and goings through it as innocuous and unobtrusive as possible. Ideally, none of the house’s actual occupants were meant to know that the door even existed, let alone that it was in use.

So if one were to attempt to invade Rogues Manor, the kitchen door would be the ideal point of entry. Thus that was where they put the cheese wire, strung irregularly over the doorway for situations just such as this one.

Barry had clearly not thought this out very well. He had cased the house from the outside enough to know that the kitchen door was the best way in, but he had no idea the cheese wire was even there. He must have been conscious of his lack of planning, because he was being what passed for cautious with the Flash and had come in at a much slower speed than he might have. Hence the fact that the cheese wire didn’t just slice him into speedster sushi.

As it was all he did was scream bloody murder and wake the entire house.

Lisa was already up and out of bed by the time Cisco manage to drag himself fully back to consciousness. Her first move was to snatch up the Gold Gun and then her skates, and she was in the process of lacing them up as Cisco rolled out of bed and dropped to the floor. Trying to shake off the drug-induced haze of sleep he reached under the bed to grab her bug-out bag, set it on the beside her and then jammed his bare feet into his discarded Vans and picked up his gun. His own bag was back in his room, and already he could hear Len thundering down the hall, heedless of his bare feet and Cold Gun doubtless at the ready. Mick had probably stopped to put on his boots, but Len wouldn’t have risked missing the chance to fight Barry on his home terf for a little thing like shoes.

Cisco poked his head out into the hall, but whatever confrontation Barry was having with Len it was going on downstairs. He swiftly made his way back to his own room, then pulled his bag out from the floor of his closet and threw it onto the bed. Being the gang’s tech geek he had to grab a few things from his work space, so he unzipped duffle he’d been using as a bug-out bag and began gathering things from his desk and tossing them haphazardly inside.

“Cisco,” came Barry’s voice from behind him.

He jumped and spun around, to find the Flash standing in the doorway.

“We have to get out of here,” Barry continued when he didn’t respond, holding out a hand.

“Len!” Cisco called. “He’s up here!”

“Please,” Barry tried again, looking desperate and heartbroken, “just come back to STAR Labs with me. We can work this out-”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Cisco snarled.

“We need you, Cisco,” Barry insisted, taking a few tentative steps toward him. “Caitlin’s a mess without you. I’m not gonna turn you in, I need you to-”

“Why should I help you?” Cisco demanded, backing away as Barry drew closer.

Barry, the idiot, looked as if he might cry. “I know this is my fault,” he choked. “I never should have brought Harry into our lives, but Cisco he’s different now, and-”

As Barry’s speech devolved into mindless rationalization suddenly Cisco caught sight of Mick standing in the doorway. Without needing to be told Cisco dropped to the floor, and a moment later Barry cried out in pain as the Heat Gun was fired directly at his back.

Barry hit the ground gasping and moaning in pain, and Mick stepped carelessly over him to get to Cisco.

“Time to go kid,” he growled, pulling Cisco to his feet, then grabbed Cisco’s bag and slung it over his shoulder beside his own. Cisco took up his own weapon, snatched one last tool off his desk, then followed Mick out of the room and down the steps.

Lisa was already downstairs, dragging Len towards the door. He was still in his undershirt and sweatpants and she was still in her nightgown, but he’d at least thrown on his parka and she had her skates and leather jacket.

They were almost out when Barry appeared at the top of the stairs, still smoking gently at the shoulders. The back of his suit was definitely ruined.

“Cisco!” he called again, but Cisco had had enough. With a few practiced movements of the dial on the side of his gun, he took aim at Barry’s feet and fired a jet of sticky purple adhesive.

Barry nearly tripped down the stairs when the blast hit his ankles, but his fall was prevented by the fact that he was now glued to the floor. He grabbed the railing to steady himself, trying to move his feet, but the goo was already hardening until he was in effect molded to the top step.

“Let’s go!” Cisco called, turning quickly away, and no one made any objection.

“Looks like that nurse had a pair on her,” Len commented, catching the boots that Mick threw at him as they made their way outside. “Didn’t think she had that in her, but I can respect that.”

He climbed into the driver’s seat of the van and Lisa took the passenger side, leaving Mick and Cisco in the back. Len pulled on his shoes without lacing them up and slammed the car door closed, then they peeled out of the driveway and headed further into the city.

“You alright?” Mick rumbled, once they were far enough from the house that Len was content they weren’t being followed.

Cisco wrapped one arm around his midsection, still covered in bandages. “I don’t think I tore anything,” he reported. “It doesn’t hurt anymore than it did before, so-”

“You know what I meant kid,” Mick interrupted.

Cisco looked away. “I’ll be okay,” he said evasively.

Len was looking at them critically in the rear-view mirror. “Everything okay back there?” he asked. “What happened?”

“Flash was talking to him,” Mick explained sourly.

“What did he want?” Len demanded, looking indirectly at Cisco now.

“To make excuses,” Cisco grumbled.

“Sounds like him,” Len agreed, sounding comforted. “Although that doesn’t do anything for our current problem.”

“Which one?” Lisa wanted to know, looking adorably rumpled but more than a little grumpy.

“We’re going to need a new hideout,” Len informed her coolly. “We can go to a motel tonight, but that’s not-”

“I think I have a more permanent solution,” Cisco piped up.

Len turned his attention back to him. “I’m all ears,” he said.

“I know a place we can go,” Cisco told him, “a place we can _stay_ , where the Flash will never think to look.”

“Where’s that?” Len sounded intrigued.

“The house where the guy he hates most in the world used to live,” Cisco replied. “I happen to be the owner these days.”

“And how did _that_  happen?” Len sounded even more intrigued.

Cisco smiled prettily at him in the mirror. “Let’s just say you’re not the first mentor in villainy I’ve had.”

Len raised an eyebrow in the mirror. “Should I be jealous?”

“I’ll put it this way,” Cisco said coyly, “you’re the only one who’s lessons stuck.”

Len gave the sharp little exhale through his nose that passed for a laugh with him. “Tell me where I’m going then.”

***

As far as Cisco knew Barry had only ventured to Harrison Wells’ mansion once, and that was before he’d realized that Wells was actually Eobard Thawne. He certainly hadn’t been back since the man died, and having accepted ownership of STAR Labs only with extreme reluctance he hadn’t thought to question what had happened to the rest of Wells’ property. This particular piece had been given to Cisco, much like the majority of his funds and stock portfolio had been bequeathed to Caitlin. Neither of them had mentioned their surprise inheritance to Barry, and he doubted that Cait would suddenly decide that now was a good time to do so. If she had ever suspected that the Rogues would hole up here a quick look would have revealed nothing, because Cisco hadn’t been back here since Wellsobard’s death either. This place was safe.

Well, as safe as a place previously owned by an evil time-traveling supervillain from the future could be.

“Nice digs,” Lisa commented, strolling leisurely through the aggressively modern front hallway. “You own this place?”

“Yeah,” said Cisco noncommittally.

The house was extremely cold and clinical with only the smallest touches of warmth, not unlike its former owner. Len and Lisa seemed pleased by it, eyeing the sleek design and doubtlessly priceless works of modern art appreciatively. Mick simply went to examine the long rectangular fireplace for a means to light it.

Cisco just couldn’t wait for the evidence of their habitation to be everywhere. The adhesive in Lisa’s Gold Gun hardened and lost its toxicity within a few minutes of being fired; she could throw some gold accents around to offset the muted grays of stone and steel. All the glass wouldn’t last long with Mick around, certainly not the stuff blocking the only convenient source of fire. Len wasn’t one for decorating, but he would soon take over most of the available surfaces with blueprints, schematics, plans. Work. It would be easy to find a space for a lab-

His thoughts were interrupted when Mick, bored of looking for the actual lighting mechanism, simply smashed open the glass surrounding the fireplace and fired his heat gun along its length.

“That’s one way to do it,” Len commented dryly, and Mick made a throaty noise in the affirmative.

“How much do you think this is worth?” Lisa wanted to know, eyeing a very boring painting that looked like a two-dimensional macaroni collage with interest.

“Too much to leave it lying around,” Len answered, glancing at the painting and flicking his eyes toward a glass sculpture that was nearly hidden by all the glass of the house’s design. “Why didn’t you tell us about this place before kid?”

“We already had somewhere,” Cisco shrugged. “I was saving this for a backup option.”

Len looked at him critically for a moment, but let the matter drop and went back to his appraisal of the house’s contents.

Eventually the adrenaline of their escape wore off, and they began to divvy up bedrooms. All of the rooms were massive, so it was mostly a matter of positioning: Lisa claimed the one that overlooked the garden, Mick immediately sought out the one with the fewest windows, and Len wanted the master bedroom.

“No,” Cisco told him firmly, “I’ll take that one.”

Len raised an eyebrow. “Getting ideas kid?” he asked, clearly amused by the mere thought.

“It’s my house,” Cisco pointed out, “besides, the guy was a wacko. Who knows what he stashed in there.”

“You think he booby trapped his bedroom?” Len asked skeptically. “And if that’s the case give me one good reason I should let my incredibly valuable tech guy find this out for me?”

“Because it’s better than you finding out yourself,” Cisco let his wry tone cover up the little thrill of pleasure that always went racing through him whenever Len told him he was valuable. “I knew him, Len, just let me do this.”

Len narrowed his eyes, looking Cisco up and down appraisingly. “One night,” he concluded at last, “get whatever it is you don’t want me to see out of there by morning.”

“Yes sir,” Cisco gave a mock salute, forcing Len to grab him by the hair and haul him in for quieting kiss.

Once he was alone in Wellsobard’s room though, Cisco didn’t really know what he was doing there. Obviously there were no traps, everything that would require that degree of protection had been in the time vault, and indeed there wasn’t much there to suggest the room had been lived in at all. There was a large collection of black clothes hanging up in the closet and a few pairs of shoes lying around, but otherwise he might as well have just stepped into a Sears catalog.

He shook himself. There was nothing of any importance in here. It was the master suite, nothing more. He would get some sleep, then in the morning he’d set himself up in another room and give this one to Len. That settled, Cisco toed off his shoes and crawled into the over-sized bed, sparing only a moment to check the time by the clock on the bedside table.

Sitting there, unobtrusively between the clock and a lamp, was a framed picture of Team STAR Labs.

Cisco remembered the night it had been taken: they had just beaten the Royal Flush gang of bank robbers, thanks mostly to Wells’ excellent planning skills and partly to Barry’s ever increasing powers. Barry had returned ecstatic and triumphant, not only victorious over evil but having beaten his own personal speed record. A picture had been deemed necessary, a record of their heroic exploits for future generations.

It made Cisco feel sick just looking at it. Seeing all their smiles had once made him feel happy, safe, loved. Now he knew each and every smile had been a lie, of one form or another, and all he wanted to do was throw the picture through a window. Instead he picked it up and looked at it even closer, propping himself into a sitting position with his pillows. He’d already turned the light off so his eyes strained to see the image clearly, and they stung a little with the effort.

“So that’s what you didn’t want Len to see,” said a gruff voice from the doorway, making Cisco jolt.

“Mick!” he cried, shoving the picture frame under a pillow. It was indeed Mick standing in the darkened doorway, dressed in nothing but a thin tank top and sweatpants, clutching a roll of bandages in one hand.

Silently Mick made his way over to the bed. He crawled over Cisco’s legs to settle himself on the inventor’s other side, then held up the bandages and nodded pointedly at Cisco’s stomach.

“You’re going to need to change those soon,” he pointed out. “Better do it now, while it’s Len’s bed you’ll be bleeding on.”

Cisco laughed through his nose -- of course Mick would think of something like that -- and obligingly rolled up his shirt and leaned forward. Carefully Mick undid the knot, and with Cisco’s help he began to unwind the bandages currently holding him together. Bit by bit the gory mess of Cisco’s abdomen was revealed, the still-bloody wounds and the slimy pink skin slowly growing over them. Even though the stitches had come out he still looked like he could come apart at any moment, like his gut might split open and spill his insides all over the sheets.

Once the wounds were exposed it was important to let them breath for a little while before re-wrapping them, so the two of them sat in silence for several minutes. For a while it didn’t seem like Mick would say anything, like he would just patch Cisco up and then go to bed, so when he did speak it almost came as a surprise.

“I can’t wait to see them,” he said, voice strange. Then again, very little about him wasn’t strange.

“See what?” Cisco prompted.

“Your scars,” he explained, brushing one thick, calloused finger ever so gently over a patch of wet new skin. “I can’t wait to see how they’ll turn out.”

“They’re not tattoos Mick,” Cisco told him, laughing just a little.

“More like a brand,” Mick agreed, with the same slightly manic reverence he usually reserved for talking about fire. “The wounds show us who we really are, reveal our true selves,” he shifted one shoulder, drawing attention to the burn scars that covered his arm, “burn off the lies of the past to make room for the truth.”

Cisco reach out a hand to touch Mick’s arm, running the pads of his fingers over the uneven skin. He knew how Mick had gotten these scars, on a job with Len a few years before Cisco had met him, but Cisco had never seen him without them. They had always seemed like a part of him, a simple fact of his existence, and Cisco found he couldn’t even imagine the larger man with smooth, unblemished skin. It was as if those marks had been there from the beginning, like he’d been born with them or acquired them early in life, and the skin stretched gruesome and unnatural over them had just been peeled away to reveal what had always been there.

Cisco looked down at the bloody wreckage of his abdomen, half healed and half scabbed over, guaranteed to never look the same as it had before. What marks, he wondered, had he always carried, that would now be revealed by the scars that were about to form?

“I see,” Cisco told him.

Mick smiled, toothy and manic, like he realized that Cisco really did. Then he put his hand under the pillow beside him and pulled out the picture frame Cisco had hastily stashed underneath. Cisco’s stomach dropped, and he waited with breath caught as Mick examined photo within curiously. He was quiet for a moment or two, then spoke without looking up.

“You could have killed the Flash tonight,” he stated, like it was a fact. It _was_ a fact. “Why didn’t you?”

“Len would get mad,” Cisco said reflexively. “Flash is _his_ big score.”

"That really the reason?” Mick asked with eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” Cisco told him firmly. “My business with the Flash is already settled. I got away, that’s all I need; Len can have the rest of him.”

Mick was silent for a moment, looking back at the photograph. “I ever tell you what I want from this world?” he asked conversationally.

“To watch it burn,” Cisco recited. Len had told him that, at first, and he’d heard the two of them discuss it.

Mick hummed throatily in approval. “Yeah,” he said, then looked up at Cisco. “What do you want from it?”

Cisco looked down at his mangled belly, remembering what it felt like to have bullets rip through his flesh. It felt a lot like something else he recalled.

“To see it break,” he answered simply, then laughed a creepy, impish little laugh because _Dios_  he was crazy, and for some reason he didn’t care at all.

Mick made another pleased little growl. Still holding the picture frame he crawled carefully back over Cisco to stand beside the bed, then pulled the smaller man to his feet. He waited for Cisco to slip back into his shoes, then led the way out of the master bedroom and back into the front hallway, where the fire was still lit in its long rectangular grate. Heedless of the broken glass under his bare feet he drew Cisco to stand before it, then while Cisco watched he slammed the front of the picture frame into the drywall above the fire.

The glass broke with a satisfying crunch, shards of it falling as Mick drew back his hand. He pulled out the picture inside through the broken window, carefully holding the frame so that Cisco could see, then handed the badly crinkled photograph to Cisco. He held it for a moment, looking at the three false smiles and his own painfully naive true one. It seemed to hold so much less power, now that it was wrinkled and not protected by the glass. It seemed thinner, more distant, less real, and he found it wasn’t hard at all to toss it carelessly into the fire.

Mick threw the frame in after it, careful not to let it obstruct the view of the actual picture, then moved behind Cisco to wrap his arms around the smaller man’s torso, his chin resting atop Cisco’s head. Cisco leaned against Mick’s warm bulk as he watched the edges of the paper curl, the middle scorch, the image warp and then break entirely before being reduced to cinders. It took longer for the plastic of the frame to crack and melt, but they stayed there until it was nothing but molten slag beside a few wisps of ash.

Cisco turned his head and buried his nose in Mick’s shirt, smelling smoke and fire and heat. He sighed when Mick brought up one hand to stroke comfortingly through his hair, and let the gentle kiss to his forehead be enough. For now.

“Come on kid,” Mick said as he pulled away, “we gotta wrap you back up.”

“Don’t wanna get an infection,” Cisco giggled, “it’ll take longer for the scars to come in!”

“That’s the spirit,” Mick growled affectionately, pulling the younger madman close against his side as they made their way back to the master bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> for those of you who are curious cisco and mick slept together once chiefly for lisa's enjoyment but neither of them particularly liked it. they much prefer to trade handjobs and admire each other's scars while they talk about blowing stuff up.


End file.
